


This is Halloween

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: There is a number of small things [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Party, Dancing, Drinking, Halloween, M/M, POV Third Person, Repo! The Genetic Opera - Freeform, Rocky Horror Picture Show - Freeform, Slytherins, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slytherins may grow up, but they never forget how to party.<br/>Happy Halloween!</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to my writing partner, friend, cohort and muse, Unkissed. 
> 
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> For Theodore, the sole keeper of Draco's heart and soul

**Sometime in September**

 

Daphne may have been the Queen B. When it came to throwing a party, but Halloween belonged to Draco and Theodore. It was the one night of the year when all of the grown ups (because that is apparently what we are now) congregate together for no other reason than to get piss drunk in stupid get-ups. Of course Draco had chosen a costume that he not only thought was brilliant, but also served as an _homage_ to one of the most brilliant minds the world has ever known.

 

Sadly, not everyone agreed with him.

 

“Well? What do you think?” Draco quirked a brow at Theodore as he stepped out of the extensive walk-in closet, holding his arms out and even doing a little twirl.

 

“What the hell are you supposed to be? You look exactly the same as you did when you went in there.” Theodore blinked at Draco from his seat at the end of the bed, clearly unimpressed.

 

Naturally, Draco huffed indignantly at the scathing remarks, although he supposed he could not fault Theodore for not having a refined enough eye to recognize the _clear_ differences in his appearance.  “I’m Christian Dior, obviously. Can’t you tell?” He smoothed over the front of his jacket and straightened his tie, even going so far as to pose dramatically like he was sitting for a vintage photograph.

 

Theodore’s piercing gaze moved over Draco and after several moments he shook his head. “Uh uh. You _literally_ look like modern-day Draco with teenage Draco hair.” He leaned back on his elbows after that and flashed an amused smile, although Draco didn’t really see the humor here.

 

“How can you say that, Theodore? This is a vintage post-war Grey flannel suit. Anyone could tell the difference.” Draco knew this to be a blatant lie, but he said it anyways because he refused to believe that his brilliant costume was crap. “And I will have you know that pomade smoothed hair is still wildly popular, to this day.”

 

“Yeah. Right.” Theodore replied, highly doubtful. “How about we dress up as a set?” He reached absently for the cigarette box on the bedside table as he spoke, eyes still fixed on Draco.

 

“Couple costumes?” Draco didn’t even attempt to mask his distaste for this idea and instead he rounded the side of the bed and dropped down next to a lounging Theodore to share his smoke.

 

“What? It could be fun.” Theodore giggled under his breath and rolled over to curl himself around Draco.

 

They lay like this for much of the afternoon that day, tossing costume ideas back and forth and smoking all of Theodore’s cigarettes. It was still two months until Halloween. The boys had only just returned to Hogwarts. They had time to sort this out still…

 

**2 nd October**

“There is no way in fucking hell you’re going to talk me into a gold lamé speedo, I don’t care _how_ many sexual favors you are offering.” Draco was talking over his shoulder as he cut a path through the middle of the sitting room; Theodore hot on his trail and waving a small strip of shiny gold material that definitely did _not_ qualify as a costume.

 

“Oh come on, Draco. You’d be a perfect Rocky.” Theodore said this while attempting to bite back a string of giggles that the mere thought of Draco sporting the gold underpants induced.

 

“And who would you be dressing as, if you don’t mind me asking?” Draco had come to a stop and turned to face Theodore, because honestly, they lived under the same roof; there was no escaping him at this point.

 

“Doctor Frank n Furter, of course.” Theodore beamed proudly with his revelation, and although Draco was tempted to agree for the sole purpose of watching Theodore traipse around a costume party in a pair of platform heels and a corset all evening, still he shook his head no.

 

“Ok fine, what about David Bowie and Mick Jagger?”

 

This had been going on for nearly a fortnight—Theodore blurting out costume suggestions and Draco shooting the ideas down. As the days wore on, it seemed Theodore’s ideas became increasingly more outlandish and Draco was beginning to wonder if they would ever come to an agreement.

 

“Only if I get to be David Bowie.” Draco replied smoothly, and then fixed Theodore with a smug grin.

 

“No way, I’m a total Bowie.” Theodore shook his head vehemently and his bottom lip jutted out in just the way that made Draco’s knees weak. Theodore was playing with an unfair advantage.

 

“Well sadly, I am _no_ Mick Jagger.” Draco waved the subject away and dropped down into a chair, rather wishing they could just go as themselves and be done with the entire thing.

 

After several moments of silence Theodore sat down across from Draco and poured them both some tea, which they sipped at quietly, each lost in his own thoughts.

 

“Morrissey and Robert Smith?” Theodore’s brows arched up over the top of his mug and although Draco couldn’t see his face, he knew that Theodore was grinning.

 

This was going to be impossible.

 

**15 th October**

Nearly two weeks had passed and they still hadn’t come to an agreement on the costumes. At this point Draco was getting ready to go back to his Christian Dior costume and let Theodore fend for himself.

 

“How about James Bond and Q.” Draco wasn’t _really_ feeling this suggestion but he said it anyways because, well, why the hell not?

 

“What about if we go as animals? I would _love_ to see you in some kitty ears and whiskers.” 

 

“How about The Mad Hatter and, uhm…The March Hare?”

 

“What about Poe and Wilde?”

 

Every conversation of every day since this dilemma began goes much like this. There is a never ending rotation of suggestions that neither one of them are terribly pleased with, but time is running out and as such, the suggestions increase in lack of tact and sanity in general.

 

**25 th October**

“I’ve got it.” Draco said one evening, and Theodore had heard this exact phrase so many times by this point that he didn’t even look up from his journal.

 

“Mmm.” He hummed noncommittally in Draco’s general direction and continued about his business.

 

“Grave Robber and…” Theodore looked up as Draco appeared to ponder over the second costume and despite himself, the corners of his mouth curled into a grin.

 

“And?” Theodore asked, and arched a sharp brow.

 

“Pavi Largo.” Draco said finally and then he smirked smugly, defying Theodore to object to _this_ one.

 

“That’s actually not bad, Malfoy.” Theodore’s head nodded slowly and he closed the journal in his lap before he slid off the sofa to wrap his arms around Draco’s neck.

 

So it was settled. One Genetic Opera and countless failed suggestions later, and they finally had their costumes. Draco was both relieved and pleased to have it done and over with and he heaved a soft, contented sigh as his arms snaked around Theodore’s middle.

 

“But what about—” Theodore never got to finish that thought because Draco quickly sealed his mouth over the other’s, effectively silencing him with a kiss.

 

**31 st October**

 

“Why are we even doing this? Isn’t this a _muggle_ tradition?” Against Draco’s better judgment he had not prevented Pansy Parkinson from entering his home, although every time she opened her mouth, he was becoming increasingly more inclined to have her removed.

 

For all of her disdain on dressing up on All Hallows Eve, Pansy didn’t seem to have minded when she herself came traipsing in through the front door clad in a skin tight, head-to-toe leather cat suit; complete with ears and a mask. Originally she had planned on being clamped onto the arm of some devastatingly handsome Adonis, but her plans fell through and still she turned up because she hated missing anything.

 

Even if it _was_ a party at the home of Theodore and Draco.

 

“What the hell are you supposed to be anyways?” Draco knew better than to engage Pansy in conversation, it never ended well. They were Slytherins with a whole lot of history and very little patience for one another.

 

“Cat Woman, obviously.” Pansy rolled her heavily onyx-lined eyes at Draco, who honestly had little room to talk. He looked like a walking advert for serial killers gone wrong.

 

“Huh.” Is all Draco said in response, and then he gave her another once over before conveniently spotting Daphne and her husband across the room and using them as an excuse to vacate the general vicinity.

 

Pansy watched Draco make his way towards Daphne and the looming mass that was her husband with narrowed eyes, her sharpened fingernails tapping idly on her hips. Daphne and her husband had come dressed as Hercules and Megara and the sickly purple shade of her dress alone, made Pansy want to vomit.  She turned away from the trio conversing out of earshot, desperately looking for someone who wasn’t annoying or dull to talk to. She would never admit that it had been a mistake coming to this party; hell, if all else failed, at least the liquor was free flowing.

 

“Nice head.” Theodore hissed in Blaise’s ear from behind, a wide grin peeking out from beneath layers of colorful strands of magicked hair. Theodore tapped the skull in his friends’ hand with the tip of his Zydrate gun and smirked knowingly before offering his glass up for a friendly toast.

 

“What in hell’s name are you supposed to be?” Blaise shot back in return, and then he grinned as their glasses clinked softly together.

 

“Grave Robber. It’s this stupid muggle movie that Draco is obsessed with.” Theodore swallowed deeply from his glass of smoking green alcohol and winked, as if this explained all.

 

“You look homeless.” Blaise said, giving him a proper once over.

 

“Kind of the point.” Theodore cuts in and then they laugh because they are both more than a little tipsy. 

 

“What’s Draco supposed to be? He looks terrifying and I didn’t want to ask.” Blaise had lowered his voice and leaned close enough to be heard over the music blaring through the entire house, his eyes now fixed on Draco across the room, who was still chatting with Daphne and company.

 

“Long story you wouldn’t understand, just know that, aside from the skin mask, it’s utterly fitting.” Theodore laughed again as he too, took to watching Draco across the room.  He couldn’t hear anything that was being said, but he had to appreciate Draco’s dedication to the part. He was prancing around and waving his arms about like the dandy little narcissist that he was dressed up as, and it was utterly adorable.

 

“These tights are chafing.” Blaise muttered under his breath, and then he handed Theodore his skull to hold so that he could _adjust._

 

“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.” 

 

Of course Theodore took the opportunity and ran with it, wielding poor Yorick as he spoke most dramatically, which earned him an amused smirk from Blaise.

 

“You should have been Hamlet.” Blaise says and then he took his skull back and frowned at it head on.

 

“Nah. I don’t fancy wearing tights. Too itchy.” Again Theodore winks at Blaise and they share another laugh before he downs the remainder of his glass.

 

“Refill?” Theodore asks, and when Blaise quickly polishes off his own drink and hands over his glass, Theodore skulks away towards the bar, unruly strands of matted and colored hair swinging wildly behind him.

 

Up at the bar that had been erected along the north wall Theodore drops off the empties in his possession and grabs for a fresh set, although he doesn’t even manage to turn around before he is jostled by an extremely intoxicated Graham Montague.  If Theodore were a bit more sober he would worry about the liquor that was now dripping on the hardwood floor, but since he was anything _but_ sober, he clapped Graham on the back and greeted him enthusiastically.

 

“Graham! Having a good time?” Even when he was drunk, Theodore was the perfect host.

 

“Brilliant time, actually. Me and the wife don’t get out _nearly_ as much as we’d like.” Graham’s words are slurred rather spectacularly and although he may not remember it later, Theodore made a mental note not to let the Montagues drink and floo.

 

“Ah yes, I imagine teenage twins will do that to you.” Theodore had taken to leaning against the bar while they conversed, because he suddenly felt like he might fall down. 

 

“I’ll drink to that!” Graham replied heartily and then he clanked his glass so hard with Theodore’s that some of its contents sloshed over the side.

 

It was only then that Theodore noticed what graham was wearing, and he stood there staring at the other man for a long while, trying to make the connection in his muddled brain.

 

“Caveman?” He asked curiously, attempting to fish his cigarettes from within the layers and folds of mismatched clothing he wore.

 

“Close. Fred and Wilma. Wife’s idea.” Graham nodded his head in the direction of his wife, who was currently in the middle of downing jello shots like they were her life’s blood. Not unlike, Theodore couldn’t help but notice, an uncivilized cavewoman.

 

If, you know, there were jello shots in prehistoric times.

 

“Nice.” Theodore said, although he didn’t have any fucking clue who Fred and Wilma were. 

 

 

“Well, I guess I should get back to the wife before she polishes the entire table off.” Graham’s laughter was sloppy but undeniably happy, and as Theodore watched him wobble back towards his wife, he couldn’t help but smile.

 

He took a moment to scan the room and take in the scene around him. Millie and Tracey were dancing with their dates in the center of the floor. Terrance Higgs was passed out cold on the floor in front of the fireplace and even Graham Pritchard had made it out, and no one had seen or heard from him in years. They had all come so far and had overcome some much. It was a wonder that so many of his friends and former classmates were still living when so many others had not been so lucky. Theodore knew it was a true testament to the Slytherin traits that they all embodied in their own ways. He felt warm and lazy-drunk and he couldn’t think of a time when they’d all been together and so happy.

 

“I was wondering when I might get you alone.” Draco’s breath was warm against his ear and he dropped his head back against the other’s shoulder and sighed happily.

 

“Mm, jonesing for some one on one with a Grave Robber, are you?” Theodore turned his head and pressed his lips against Draco’s throat, the faint scent of his cologne tugging on his senses in the most delicious ways.

 

“Oh yes,” Draco practically purred, his fingers curling into Theodore’s hips and pulling him firmly against his front.  “You’ve got what I need.”

 

Theodore chuckled under his breath as he pressed himself up against Draco, the warmth that radiated off of him and found its way through the layers of fabric, making him wish that they were not in the company of so many people.

 

“What’s in those drinks, anyways? I’m completely knackered.”

 

“Spellbinders. You never see them coming.” Draco sounded awfully clear headed, and Theodore couldn’t help but wonder if he was purposely not drinking or had merely become much better at holding his liquor over the years.

 

“Let’s dance, they’re playing our song.” Theodore pried himself off of Draco and grabbed for his hand, tugging him out into the small group of people that were dancing in their dining room where the table usually stood. As it turns out, Draco was rather intoxicated himself and didn’t even put up a fight over the whole _dancing_ thing.

 

Of course, you can’t get a group of Slytherins together for drinks and dancing without it turning into a competition, and before Draco knew what was happening there was a large circle with a full-on (drunken) dance battle in its center.

 

Adrian Pucey was watching the entire thing from the bar, and unbeknownst to anyone else in attendance, he was snapping pictures all evening with a muggle camera.  Always the opportunist, Adrian knew that these pictures would serve him well over the course of the next year and if one or two snapshots ended up in the Prophet (for a handsome price, of course), he would deny knowing anything about it. He aimed his small camera at Greg Goyle and snapped a few pictures of him, simply because his costume was so outlandish that it was hilarious.

 

Greg had thought long and hard about his costume in the minutes leading up to the party, because truth be told, he had entirely forgotten that costumes were a requirement. He had scrambled through old trunks in his family home looking for something to throw on and had somehow managed to come upon a fiberglass horses head. Drinking proved difficult with an enormous horse head on and after several failed attempts at trying to drink with the thing **on,** he had talked Millie into shrinking it just enough that it sat jauntily on his head like a woman’s tea hat. Of course Greg didn’t see the humor in this as much as his friends, but then again, Greg rarely did.

 

 

The night slipped past faster than any of them realized and it was well into the next morning when just a select few sat around the fire engaging in lazy conversation.  Theodore was curled up on the loveseat next to Draco, with Blaise sitting on the floor in front of them, an unknown and scantily clad female lying with her head in his lap. Apparently she was dressed as a nurse; a nurse with a clear shortage of uniform. Daphne’s husband was occupying the lounge chair and she was sat on his lap. Pansy had left early, not that anyone had really minded, and Terrance was _still_ passed out on the floor, now with accompanying drool puddle.

 

“Remind me to only give him _virgin_ drinks next year.” Draco muttered in Theodore’s ear, nudging his chin in Terrance’s direction.

  
Theodore nodded knowingly and smiled, nestling closer to Draco and finally managing to fish out his cigarette box. “Remind me to not let _you_ choose our costumes next year.” He added cheekily before lighting two cigarettes at once and passing one off to Draco.

 

The conversation teetered between present life events and those of the past, each of them taking turns sharing important news or telling a story from days past that was sure to catch a laugh.  Blaise told everyone how he and Draco used to spell-shrink all of Vince and Greg’s robes once a month so they would constantly look like they were busting out of them.  Daphne proudly announced that she and her husband were trying for a baby, which earned her a hearty toast all around. Graham and his wife warned them all on the woes of raising twin Slytherins and Tracey told the story of a particular night in the Slytherin common room after a _whole_ lot of nicked fire whiskey and a rousing game of strip poker.

 

Theodore talked about his latest novel and gushed about Scorpius and lamented over how fast time did indeed pass by.  Draco smoked his cigarette in silence and listened to them all, and never before had he been so happy to have the friends that he did. Each of them was unique in their own ways, which made them successful in life, despite any odds that may have been stacked against them. Of course Slytherins were survivors and they had all done just fine on their own, but it was when they were all _together_ that they truly shined.  Draco knew that he wasn’t the only one in this group of friends that had managed to overcome great odds, and he realized that this right here, was what sharing your life with others was all about. 

 

Dressing up in silly costumes and copious amounts of liquor were merely the additives, and by the time he and Theodore fell into bed in a tangle of colored hair and various shades of face make up, he knew that he was the luckiest man alive.

 

“So, about our costumes next year…” Draco’s voice was hoarse from too many cigarettes and consumption and although the sun was already up, he knew that he would sleep through its entire appearance that day.

 

“Next year, _I’m_ picking our costumes.” Theodore responded with an equally raspy voice and then Draco smiled and pulled him closer, and didn’t even care what horrifying costume Theodore might cook up for him next year.

  
Even that tiny strip of gold lamé.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Names and content gratuitously borrowed from the following:
> 
> The Rocky Horror Picture Show  
> Repo! The Genetic Opera  
> Hamlet  
> And of course, various musicians. ;)


End file.
